


A Familiar History

by Already Restless (dontkeepmehere)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Implied/Referenced BDSM, Past Relationship(s), Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 07:28:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21424480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontkeepmehere/pseuds/Already%20Restless
Summary: Doctor Riddle produces some of the highest rated research the University of Oxford has ever seen. He's also in the unfortunate habit of sleeping with his students. Well, only one student, really. And they haven't seen each other in quite a while.~“I got an interesting email today. From Cormac McLaggen.”Tom made a non-committal noise, looking away from Hermione’s wringing hands to the documents spread out in front of him.“He wanted me to contribute to an article that’s being prepared about you. Alleging an extensive history of sexual harassment.”“Oh?” He looked up from his work, interest temporarily piqued. “I wasn’t aware that your friends knew about our relationship.”
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle
Comments: 9
Kudos: 198





	A Familiar History

**Author's Note:**

> I've used some Oxford-specific words in this one so here's a little glossary.  
DPhil - what Oxford calls the PhD  
MSt - short for Master of Studies, a Masters degree equivalent to an MA  
Transfer - short for Transfer of Status, a test DPhil students take at the end of their 1st year to check their work is on track

Tom was disturbed by a quiet knock at his office door. He was slightly surprised, he didn’t have any appointments scheduled and generally no one sought him out in his office without warning or invitation. “Come in,” he called.

The door opened and Hermione slipped inside, quickly closing the door behind her. “Hermione,” he greeted coolly, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I got an interesting email today. From Cormac McLaggen.”

Tom made a non-committal noise, looking away from Hermione’s wringing hands to the documents spread out in front of him.

“He took your Latin for Historians class two years ago.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Tom replied. He honestly had no clue who this McLaggen bloke was but if Hermione said he was a former student he’d believe her. Students rarely made an impression on him and since his Latin course was neither examined nor subject to supervision reports he never even attempted to learn the student’s names. 

“He wanted me to contribute to an article that’s being prepared about you. Alleging an extensive history of sexual harassment.” 

“Oh?” He looked up from his work, interest temporarily piqued. “I wasn’t aware that your friends knew about our relationship.”

“They don’t” Hermione snapped. “And McLaggen is not my friend.”

“If he doesn’t know then why did he email you, Hermione?”

“Apparently you made a lascivious joke when I was ill, something about being stuck in bed where I belonged.”

That prompted a dry little laugh from Tom, who returned to his research. “I suppose we should be grateful that he didn’t pick up on the time you were too tied up to make it to class.”

“Please be serious.”

“I don’t see the need.”

“Damn it, Tom, I am trying to protect you!” Hermione snapped. He looked up and studied her. She was still standing by the door, as though coming any closer to his desk would risk her being pulled into his spell again. Her body was taught, a strange mixture of anxiety and defiance.

“I neither want nor need your protection.”

Her lips quirked, and she seemed to relax slightly. “Shockingly I don’t actually care about what you want or need anymore.”

“I’m fine,” Tom gritted out. “Malfoy is handling it.”

“Fine. I’ll talk to Brax then.”

She made to leave and he stilled her movements with a word. “Don’t.”

She stopped moving immediately, standing momentarily frozen before she visibly bristled, her palms clenching and then rapidly unclenching a moment later. She moved a step closer to him before she seemed to collect herself. “I also don’t take your orders anymore.”

“You are infuriating.”

“Thank you.”

“Not a compliment.”

“It is from you.”

He smiled slightly. He had rarely allowed her to show him this attitude. Maybe if he had things would have been different.

“Malfoy has it handled. Don’t waste his time. They don’t know about you and everything else can be spun or denied. I produce some of the highest rated research in the department, I won’t be ousted because of some bad press.”

Hermione uncoiled more, the anxiety leaving her body causing her posture to soften and her shoulders to drop slightly. She moved further into the room, leaning against one of the chairs placed opposite his desk. “What about Bellatrix?” She asked with soft curiosity.

“She knows. She’s prepared.”

“And –“ Hermione broke off, not quite able to complete the thought.

“He knows.”

“Does he,” Hermione swallowed and began again. “Does he know about me?”

“He guessed. Eventually.”

“How’d he take it?” The contrast between the voices was striking, he was calm and level, she sounded like she could barely keep her voice from quaking.

“Better than you did. He doesn’t need protecting either, he’s not a child.”

“He’s only five years younger than me.”

The implication of her words was heavy, _your son is a child, just like me_. He hated the censure. Subtle anger coloured his speech. “I don’t see that as relevant. You knew about him before we got involved. I mentioned him in my first lecture, for fuck’s sake.”

“Knowing you have an eighteen-year-old son and actually meeting said eighteen-year-old son are _vastly_ different situations.” 

“Why?” Tom asked, leaning back into his chair in an attempt to regain his coolness.

“Because before he was an abstraction. Now I know he’s just over six foot, and built like you but with lighter hair like his mum. I know you nearly named him Oberon after the moon of Uranus because apparently Bella’s family has some weird obsession with celestial names. I know he never sees you because he’s away at school and I know that makes him sad. Fuck Tom, I know he knew you and Bella were screwed well before you met me.”

He latches on to that last statement, “doesn’t that make it easier?”

“No, it doesn’t. Because even if your relationship with his mother is terminally dreadful you still have a son. A living, breathing reminder of why you shouldn’t be fucking your students.”

“He doesn’t care if I fuck my students.”

“Bollocks!”

“Fine. He doesn’t care if I fuck _you_.”

“What?” She exclaims, unable to believe what she had just heard.

“He noticed when you left –“

“I didn’t leave,” she interrupted.

“You transferred your supervision to Lupin.”

“He matched my research better –“

“You stopped answering my calls.”

“I was busy.”

“You’re doing a DPhil at Oxford, you’re always busy!” he snapped, moving sharply in his chair as though he wanted to pounce at her. He restrained himself, propping his elbows on the table and resting his head in his hands. “I find this exhausting, Hermione.” He looked up and met her eye, “don’t you find this exhausting?”

“I –“ she began before cutting herself off. She shifted from foot to foot. “I don’t know what you mean, Tom.”

He grit his teeth and looked away from her to the window. The yellow stone of the opposing buildings were bathed in soft, cool light, with only a sliver of the grass of the quad being visible at the bottom of the pane. He paused, watching a couple of undergrads hurry past before disappearing in to a staircase. Checking his watch, he saw that it was four minutes to the hour, meaning that students would be shuffling between tutorials for the next few minutes. 

“He says that I am being _petulant_,” he observed, not looking away from the window. He said the final word with disdain and detachment, as though he could discredit his son’s observation and so disavow any suggestion that he might, possibly, still care for Hermione.

“Are you?” She asked, studying his profile.

He shrugged. “You would have to ask him.”

“Or you could tell me,” she says coaxingly, with a slightly mocking inflection. “We could talk. They say there’s a first time for everything.”

His eyes snapped to her. There was a slight tightness in the corners of his eyes which told Hermione her shot had landed. “We talked before.”

“No, we didn’t.”

“Is that the perspective you’re taking?” He asked with feigned indifference. “That we didn’t work because of a ‘failure to communicate’.”

“No, we didn’t work because you’re _married_, Tom. With a son.”

“That didn’t bother you at the beginning,” he said cuttingly.

“Yeah, well, at the beginning you were just someone I slept with. There’s a difference between hooking up and an actual relationship.”

“We had an actual relationship.”

“No, we didn’t.”

Tom scoffed, though whether it was because of disbelief or annoyance was hard to determine. He tensed his jaw and then admitted, “I wanted us to have an actual relationship.”

“Tom –“ she interrupted, sounding soft and hurt.

“You were the one who left,” he continued, ignoring her. “I tried Hermione, you didn’t. We didn’t work because you didn’t want us to, please don’t claim there was any other reason.”

“So what? You’d have just divorced Bella and taken up with me? Introduced me to your colleagues? ‘Have you met Hermione, she’s just finishing up her DPhil, oh and did I mention I’ve been fucking her since she finished her MSt!’?”

He fixed her with a sardonic little smile, “Now that _would_ get me fired.” Hermione huffed in frustrated anger. “Though I do resent the implication that I didn’t do everything I was able to. I introduced you to my friends.”

“You introduced me to Abraxas,” she countered. “He’s your lawyer, not your friend.”

“Close enough,” Tom said, being uncharacteristically flip.

“Tom!”

“Hermione.”

“Would you – would you just be serious? Please?”

“I am being serious,” he said coolly. “I would have done anything you asked of me, Hermione.”

“Provided it didn’t get you fired, of course,” she sniped.

“Of course,” he said with a slight nod. He didn’t think the caveat was actually required. He knew that Hermione would never ask for anything that would endanger him. She was barely able to ask for anything at all. He wondered whether that was attributable to her various neuroses – her endless need to be completely self-sufficient, to be better than the best, to never need anyone or anything despite wanting everything she saw – or whether it was him, and his implacable coolness that made her reticent.

“You’d divorce Bellatrix?”

Tom didn’t even attempt to hide his surprise. “Are you asking me to?”

“Maybe.” He looked at her, with cool blue eyes and raised brows. It reminded her of the first time he’d read her work. It was a rambling essay whose argument was mired in conditional assertations and frequent, regretful acknowledgements that there were those who were older and more qualified who thought she was wrong. He’d looked at her in the same way and said _try for a little conviction, Hermione_. It made her spine shiver. She stiffened and set her jaw. “My answer depends on your answer, Tom.”

“Yes,” he said, after a short pause. “If you asked me to, I would.”

“But you wouldn’t do it otherwise? Just because you wanted to?”

“There are financial benefits to staying married.” His tone was so indifferent, it was as though he were dissecting an article he’d read recently, rather than discussing the end of his marriage. “It would be marginally easier for Marcus if I didn’t divorce his mother. Abraxas has advised me against it. So no, I wouldn’t divorce Bella unless you asked me to.”

“You talked to Abraxas about this?” She asked quietly.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“I mentioned it when we were in London. After I introduced you.”

Hermione either didn’t notice the dig or she didn’t care. “Is that why he was staring at me? I thought it was because I was your student.”

“He was shocked that I was serious about you.” 

“You really asked him? Then?” It was evident that Hermione was truly surprised. When they had gone to London they hadn’t even been together a year. The trip had been a long weekend at the end of the first year of her doctorate, an impulse decision to celebrate Hermione passing Transfer. They’d stayed in Tom’s flat in Kensington, and had rarely left. Hermione had made them spend the Monday in the British Library, so that they could say that they’d technically done ‘research’, thereby making Tom’s expense claims marginally less fraudulent. The only other time they’d left the flat was for an extravagant dinner out to officially celebrate Hermione’s success. When they’d finished Hermione had expected Tom to whisk her back to the flat for another round of enthusiastic sex. Instead, he’d insisted they get a nightcap because there was someone he wanted her to meet.

“Yes. I wanted to know what my options were.”

“I - I didn’t know. I thought it was just sex.”

“It wasn’t.”

There was silence. It was interrupted by the sound of the chapel’s bell striking the hour. Hermione listened to each ponderous chime. One. Two. Three. Four. She wished it was later, and that she wasn’t in Tom’s office.

“I see.”

Tom sighed. “Was there anything else you wanted, Hermione?”

“No. I – No, I don’t think there was.” She straightened up, moving towards the door. “Goodbye, Tom.”

Once again, he stopped her on her way to the door. “Why did you come here today, Hermione?”

“I told you – I –“

“You didn’t need to come here,” Tom pressed. “Leaving aside the fact that I have never needed your protection, I presume you’d already declined to contribute to that article before you came to see me. So, why did you come?”

“I thought you ought to know –“

“And you genuinely believed I didn’t know already?” Tom scoffed. “Forgive me, Hermione, but I don’t believe you.”

“I –“ Hermione began and then stopped. She flicked her eyes up to the ceiling and took at deep breath. The action made Tom smile, she always did that when he forced her to say anything she found humiliating. She was, in many ways, far more obstinate than Tom’s usual taste. “I wanted to see you.”

“Now was that so hard?”

“Do not,” Hermione bit out. “I am not going to start playing those games again.”

“Then you should leave. I’m not interested in anything else.”

Her hand was on the doorknob when she turned to meet his eye. “Goodbye, Doctor Riddle.” 


End file.
